


Gertrude's Choice

by Jojoinabox



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jojoinabox/pseuds/Jojoinabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of her husband, King Hamlet, Queen Gertrude is all that stands between Denmark and complete political upheaval. Her biggest priority is to encourage the stability of her beloved country, but her options are few and her time in power is running out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Queen Gertrude was discussing with Polonius the topics for the afternoon’s meeting with the ambassador when she received the news. She had become accustomed to organising the ins and outs of Elsinore in this way while Hamlet, her husband, was away warring with Norway; as with many wartime rulers, King Hamlet quickly grew tired of the peace that followed, leaving his capable wife to the day-to-day running of Denmark. Thus free from responsibility, he could now devote himself to his favourite pastimes: eating, drinking, enjoying the fresh outdoor air, and napping.  
The rap on the door was a welcome relief from the “brief” elucidations of her husband’s advisor. At a quick “come in” from the queen, a messenger crept in, more nervously than they usually were. Perhaps he was new.  
“Yes?”  
“Majesty, I have a message for you.” Gertrude motioned for him to continue, but instead he glanced at Polonius. “It’s a private message.” Ah. Nodding, she stood and moved to the door.  
“I shall return in a moment, Polonius,” she quipped, smiling, as she followed the messenger into the quiet corridor. “Go on, what is it?”  
“I have come with ill news from the Chief Physician, majesty…” A chill ran down Gertrude’s spine.  
“What happened? The King—“  
“The King has died, majesty.”  
“What?” Gertrude hissed. “No, don’t be ridiculous. He can’t.” The messenger was taken aback by her response.  
“Can’t… die, majesty?”  
“No! Not today. He’s supposed to meet with the Polish ambassador this afternoon… There’s a state dinner…” The queen trailed off as the news sunk in. _Dead. Her husband was dead._ “He was in the peak of health when I saw him this morning—as much as he ever is. He’s not—how did he… what happened?” Her eyes burned into the messenger.  
“His Highness was asleep in the Winter Garden, as is his custom, when it appears a serpent stung him.” A serpent? This far north, and in this weather? Gertrude had her reservations about the story, but did not press the matter. However it had happened, the King of Denmark was dead, and the Queen had much to do to salvage the situation as much as she could.  
“Where is he now?” she demanded. “Bring his corse into the East Hall and lay it out on the table. Lock the doors; make sure no-one sees. We must contain the news as much as possible. You may tell Claudius, but _that is it, do you understand?_ ”  
“Yes, majesty,” nodded the messenger. Gertrude dismissed him with a wave, and he scuttled off. Now alone, she seemed to shrink into herself, a collapsing shell. Only for a moment, though. She had business to attend to. She could grieve later, when she was alone. Swallowing the urge to cry, she straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and went back in to Polonius and his insatiable curiosity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that it's been aaaaaages since my last update. That would be because my laptop decided that AO3 didn't need to be accessible... Anyway, it's fixed itself apparently, so I can post things again. Yay!

The funeral was two weeks later. Not ideal, but there was a lot to prepare for; King Hamlet was not expected to die for years, and the lack of planning for his interment reflected that. At least it was still early enough in the year that the body stayed mostly preserved. There was also the problem of Young Hamlet. Gertrude had called her son home from Wittenberg, the university where he chose to fritter away his years and his parents’ money. He now walked next to Gertrude at the head of the funereal procession, glaring blankly at his father’s coffin. Despite his fine sables, Hamlet looked more like a rueful teenager than a Prince and presumptive heir to a kingdom. Gertrude reflected that she had probably been too indulgent regarding the boy, as his late father had suggested. At the time, Gertrude had ignored the King, icily retorting that if he was so interested in his son’s upbringing maybe he should try to be a part of it instead of complaining from the sidelines. Perhaps he had been right after all.  
Prince Claudius, who was following close behind his sister-in-law and nephew, gently brushed Gertrude’s hand in a gesture of comfort. It was subtle, but enough to let the Queen know she had a friend. For a brief instant, her lips twitched into a smile. She’d always been fond of Claudius, the charmer.

-

Hamlet remained in a sulk throughout the dinner. Various lords came up to the bereaved royals with their condolences; while Gertrude graciously thanked them for the kind words, the Prince just nodded or grunted his thanks.  
“Darling, you could do better to actually speak to these people. They’re only trying to be polite.” Hamlet gave his mother a withering look. Gertrude returned his gaze and indicated towards Lord Hagan, the next in line to offer his sympathies. Suddenly, Hamlet’s face transformed into a mask of cheerfully borne grief as the lord knelt before them.  
“Your majesties, I wish to extend on behalf of my family the most sincere of condolences in this tragic time.”  
“Dear lord,” began Hamlet, “we thank you ever so sincerely for sharing in our grief. As you have said—and so eloquently, I might add—this is indeed a tragic time for us. Deeply so for the nation at large, but for my newly-widowed mother and myself, the son and heir of so paramount a king!” He heaved a great sigh and collapsed back into his seat, looking quite stricken. Taking advantage of the pause in the Prince’s effusions, Lord Hagan muttered his repeated condolences and scuttled away. Hamlet turned to his mother with a look that asked “happy now?”  
“If you really think you’re going to inherit the kingship, you should try not estranging your lords," Gertrude remarked. “Especially those who, like Lord Hagan, sit on the Electorate Council.” Hamlet sniffed.  
“So I should lick the boots of my subjects? My path to the throne is one of primroses. I’m the only son of the deceased; of course they’ll vote me in. Besides, who else is there? Uncle Claudius?” Hamlet sneered the name. There was no love lost between the Princes, much like the relationship between the elder Hamlet and his brother had been. “Besides, Father managed to rule well enough without buttering anyone up.”  
Gertrude stifled the urge to mention that her husband couldn’t have ruled a kennel without her “buttering,” as Hamlet had called it. She limited her response to a dubious lift of a brow and returned to her food before it went cold. 


	3. Chapter 3

The Danish lords had become so accustomed to Gertrude’s presence at their meetings over the years that nobody had questioned her sitting in on the Electorate Council. If anything, the lords were probably glad she was there. She knew the candidates for kingship better than anyone else here, after all. As Hamlet had predicted, the options extended to Claudius and himself. And as Gertrude had warned, the decision was far from unanimous—or being made at all, at this rate. Of the twelve lords on the Council, only four were strongly in Hamlet’s favour. Three were strongly for Claudius, including Lord Hagan, four were undecided, and one was Polonius. Everyone knew that regardless of the options, Polonius would be firmly in favour of whichever candidate was currently looking the most promising. At the moment, he was wrapping up a speech that presumably supported Young Hamlet’s succession.  
“And so, in short, it is a matter of upholding what is indeed one of our nation’s greatest traditions. A tradition, call I it, for the following of sons in their fathers’ occupations, whether humble like that of a cobbler or great as a king, is a common thing among all our people and has been so from Denmark’s infancy; great, I say it is, for it is a tradition stretching back many generations which has provided many goodly kings, following one another through long centuries up until our beloved King Hamlet, now sadly deceased, and who shall surely be followed in his turn by the younger Hamlet, his son. I see no reason why this should not be so.”  
“Perhaps because the young Prince is—begging your majesty’s pardon—an arrogant child with no idea how to be a king and no desire to learn it of us.” Lord Hagan darted a slightly apologetic glance at the Queen; she waved it away good-naturedly. Hagan was right, after all. Putting Hamlet in control of Denmark unchecked would surely lead to at least a decade of minor disasters.  
“So you think Prince Claudius is going to be any better for us?” scoffed Lord Ester, of the Young-Hamlet faction. “He’s just as inexperienced and insufferable as Prince Hamlet—again, beg pardon your majesty—and less likely to change for the better. Besides which, he’s near fifty and shows no sign of taking a wife, let alone providing any potential heirs.” Gertrude caught the eye of Lord Cornelius (a neutral) across the table, and he cleared his throat to speak.  
“We’ve been arguing in circles for a couple hours now, lords, and seem to be no nearer to making an actual decision. I suggest we—“  
“If we don’t decide soon we may as well give the crown to Fortinbras.” Gertrude didn’t catch who had interrupted Cornelius, but whoever it was had certainly succeeded in silencing the room. The Norwegian prince was an unlikely heir of his uncle the king, and had started stirring up an army, presumably to win himself a crown of his own. The destination of said army was still unknown, but Gertrude and all of the lords clearly remembered the shame brought upon Norway when Old Hamlet had annihilated Fortinbras’ father in single combat and won singlehandedly all the lands they had fought so long over. And now that Denmark was in the awkward position of having no king and no strong candidate for one, they would be too tempting a target for Fortinbras to resist. Cornelius broke the quiet with a small harrumph and finished his thought.  
“I suggest we table the discussion for the time being, and those of us who have not stated a position can find one in the meantime.” The room filled with acquiescent murmurings and the mention of a good lunch. Slowly the men filed out the door, until it was only Gertrude and Cornelius sitting at the table. “You have been quiet, majesty,” remarked the lord.  
“This is no easy choice,” replied Gertrude. “To be truthful, I would hesitate to allow either Prince to rule. Claudius is all charm and no sense, and Hamlet, well.” She shook her head slightly. “If Hamlet had his way he would do all the ruling on his own, in his way, and entirely from the university.” Cornelius nodded in agreement.  
“And if I had mine you would continue to do the work you’ve done since you came here. ‘Tis a great pity you were not born a man, majesty, else you would be the most quickly voted-in king in Danish history.” Gertrude smiled. It would certainly be the smoothest transition if she were to take the throne officially. Unfortunately, Denmark must have its kings. Then a thought occurred: what was to stop Gertrude from continuing to keep the country on its feet from behind the scenes? It had worked so far. She leaned in towards Cornelius.  
“What if there was to have your king and keep me too?” He leaned in as well and grinned.  
“Do tell, majesty.” And so they began to plot.


End file.
